Middle Finger
A few years after I started my new life in America, my father finally got his visa to come to see us. Knowing how much my Dad likes to see new things, I got on the road. Driving once on I-70 with a decent speed through the downtown area, I didn’t pay too much attention to my father’s gestures. He was thrilled as a kid, looking to the left and to the right. “What is this, what is that?” I’ve heard him asking. I was unable to answer, because my eyes caught a sight of something wild: the man in the next car pointed his middle finger at me. I pushed on the gas, leaving his ugly finger far behind. “What have I done?” No one has ever pointed a middle finger at me before. I was just so proud of my driving to impress my father! “What is that?” My Dad was already looking at something else. Luckily, he was too busy to notice what was going on outside the car. I wouldn’t be able to stand his criticism. Again, I hadn’t ev